A well-kept London mews, with its peace, privacy and discreet good taste, is viewed by many as the most seductive of all living environments. But this cherished atmosphere can be maintained only by extreme vigilance from the local planning department, supported by goodwill from the neighbours.
The high-profile case of the candy-striped eyesore frontage in the pleasant backwaters of Kensington shows what happens when these are not forthcoming. A lady with the less-usual name of Zipporah Lisle Mainwaring has applied for a double basement as part of her ambitious plan for what looks from the outside like a small terraced cottage, but is in fact a warehouse extending all the way back into the next street. As her next-door neighbour does not much welcome the disruption that this would bring, the application is taking its time, and the redoubtable Zipporah, who looks no less startling than her name, is not taking it lying down. The locals wake up next morning to find the front of the house painted in bright red stripes, like a Punch-&-Judy kiosk.
Half-heartedly, the producers try to intersperse this story with two or three others on a similar theme (leaf-blowers and an opera festival), but it's a losing battle. Zipporah is who we're fixated on, and this crazy loose cannon is all we want. Spoilt and petulant is the first impression. Rich (of course) and over-impulsive. Lonely and dissatisfied too, we gradually realise. There is no mention of a family, or any sign of other people around the home. Just a couple of rather flashy rings, and a faint suggestion of mature beauty, but all charm dispelled by the mad ferocity of her manner and her evident hatred of the world.
Ironically, the neighbour hasn't done himself any favours by stirring up this hornets' nest in the mews. Because if he should want to sell-up before the case is over, the prospective buyer would have to be told the whole weird history, blow by blow. With a slight, mischievous smile, she asks "Would you want to buy a house next to me?"
The high-profile case of the candy-striped eyesore frontage in the pleasant backwaters of Kensington shows what happens when these are not forthcoming. A lady with the less-usual name of Zipporah Lisle Mainwaring has applied for a double basement as part of her ambitious plan for what looks from the outside like a small terraced cottage, but is in fact a warehouse extending all the way back into the next street. As her next-door neighbour does not much welcome the disruption that this would bring, the application is taking its time, and the redoubtable Zipporah, who looks no less startling than her name, is not taking it lying down. The locals wake up next morning to find the front of the house painted in bright red stripes, like a Punch-&-Judy kiosk.
Half-heartedly, the producers try to intersperse this story with two or three others on a similar theme (leaf-blowers and an opera festival), but it's a losing battle. Zipporah is who we're fixated on, and this crazy loose cannon is all we want. Spoilt and petulant is the first impression. Rich (of course) and over-impulsive. Lonely and dissatisfied too, we gradually realise. There is no mention of a family, or any sign of other people around the home. Just a couple of rather flashy rings, and a faint suggestion of mature beauty, but all charm dispelled by the mad ferocity of her manner and her evident hatred of the world.
Ironically, the neighbour hasn't done himself any favours by stirring up this hornets' nest in the mews. Because if he should want to sell-up before the case is over, the prospective buyer would have to be told the whole weird history, blow by blow. With a slight, mischievous smile, she asks "Would you want to buy a house next to me?"
